I quickly pay the check, and as we emerge from the bistro, I notice the rain has eased into a light, misty drizzle.
“Oh, just so you know,” I say, breaking the sudden, stilted silence, “that call to your PR person? It definitely had nothing to do with any of my projects. I found out the caller was actually this intern I’m using, but she’s doing it for a story of her own.”
His eyes widen almost imperceptibly. “Oh yeah? What’s the topic?”
I’d promised confidentiality to Sasha, and I can’t violate that now, but I still feel compelled to offer Damien a warning.
“You’d have to ask her. She’s an amateur but she’s trying to make a name for herself doing financial pieces. Looking for stuff that isn’t on the up-and-up. Go figure.”
That’s the most I should say. If he’s smart—and he is—he’ll follow the lead.
He nods, that’s all.
“But, Damien, just to reiterate, I wasn’t involved.”
“Take care,” he says. No brush of lips on my cheek this time. “I’m going to watch as you cross the street.”
I thank him and dart away, my panic mushrooming again as I hurry toward home. I’m careful at each intersection, always checking behind me. Less than ten minutes later, I’m unlocking my apartment door. And finally exhaling.
Hugh’s not home, but then, it’s not even eight o’clock yet. I ease through the apartment, flicking on lights, opening the door to the den. It’s stupid to feel scared in my own home, but I can’t shake the fear.
In the bedroom, I tear off my still-damp trench coat andhang it on a hook in my closet, though I can’t imagine wearing it ever again. My pants, I see, are beyond repair. I toss them on the floor, planning to trash them later.
I wash my hands and knees next, and as I’m spreading a dab of Neosporin on each palm, my phone rings from inside my purse. I do my best to dig it out without smearing the screen with the ointment. It’s Mulroney calling.
“Now a good time?” he asks. He’s in a car, I can tell, because his voice is echo-y from using Bluetooth.
“Yes, always,” I say, tugging on a pair of sweats with my free hand. “Have you got news?”
“I do. But first, anything from your end?”
For a split second, I toy with telling him about what just happened but remind myself that it’s probably irrelevant to what he’s working on.
“No, nothing. I did have a moment tonight when I thought I was remembering something to do with the tissues, but it never quite materialized.”
“Maybe in time. Tell me, have you been back yet to that communal office space you use?”
“No, but I’m hoping to go in tomorrow. Why?”
“I think that’d be a good idea. Because you put in time there on Tuesday.”
“Are yousure? My intern was there Tuesday afternoon, and she said I wasn’t around that day.” Could I have come and gone before Sasha arrived?
“I’m not talking about the afternoon,” Mulroney says. “Seems you spent the entire night at that location.”
“I was there all night?” I say, stunned. Though WorkSpaceis filled with people doing startups and working weird hours, I’m usually out of there by six or so. “How do you know?”
“I was able to convince someone there to check your key card history for me. You were on the premises from around nineP.M.to sixA.M.”
I don’t like the idea of someone being so indiscreet, even though it’s of value to me in this case. But that’s the least of what bothers me. The facility doesn’t have anything like sleeping pods on the premises, so the revelation from Mulroney means that if I slept part of the time, I must have done it sprawled across my desk or even on the floor.
At least I was out of harm’s way.
“But not Wednesday night?”
“No, your key card wasn’t used again during the period we’re looking into. But we have a bigger chunk of info to work with now. You’re definitely going in there tomorrow?”
“I’ll make a point to go. First thing in the morning.”
